How I broke my arm

---Don't try this at home. Please.

My parents have never heard the truth to how I broke my arm. I told them I broke it playing basketball, which is a partial truth. I was sort of kind of playing basketball. If you count jumping off a table to dunk as playing basketball than yes I was playing basketball.

When I was 15, I was with some friends shooting hoops inside a Mormon church (if you didn’t know this, every Mormon church has an indoor basketball hoop) when some one (probably me) had the genius idea to jump off a table so that we could dunk. At the time, it was a Eureka moment to end all Eureka moments. Why didn’t we think about this earlier!?

The first couple of times we attempted dunks, the table was right next to the rim, the degree of difficulty small and the chances of getting hurt were very slim. But then I had a great idea, why don’t we get running start, jump off the table from much further away and make some monster slams? Again, a great idea at first, but a really bad idea in retrospect.

I thought I could get a running start like the Phoenix Suns mascot the Gorilla, run from one side of the court to the other and slam that baby down. Which I did, actually. It was a pretty impressive run, table plant and jump, and not a bad dunk… but here’s where the problem came in…

I had so much forward momentum from the run across the court that I felt the rim giving out. I didn’t want to break it, since we were in a church, we would have to explain how our little white selves broke a ten foot rim. So I let go of the rim… another bad idea.

My momentum sent my feet out, stretching my body parallel to the ground. I landed on my left side, or more specifically, my left hand. The break somehow made my finger tips touch my forearm, bending in a way I knew was not supposed to happen and was most definitely bad for me.

As I lay there on the ground, one friend counted out like a boxing ref, giving me a ten count as I yelled in pain. That fucking jerk. Anyway…

I went home that night and showed my arm to step dad and told him that I fell down playing basketball. He said that it was probably just strained, even though it was clearly three times its normal size and I wasn’t able to move any fingers. I would normally go to my mother for help on stuff like this by my mom wasn’t supposed to get home until the next morning from a night work trip.

That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. I was seething with pain and anger, take me to the freaking hospital already!

The next morning, I laid on the couch bleary eyed when my mom came home. As soon as she saw my arm, we went to the doctor, who confirmed my thoughts that my arm was broken (and threw in a few torn ligaments for the trouble) and then gave me the fun pleasure of resetting my arm, which had already started to heal back together the wrong way. There’s no fun like breaking growing bones.

My doctor found it hard to believe that I broke my arm that badly from falling during a game. I stuck by my story, even though it was a lie. Why did I? I don’t know. Why do kids lie when they are younger? Fear that you will be grounded. That’s it pure plain and simple.

I hated having the cast on and I missed a ton of basketball games because of my arm. I eventually cut it off myself like a young idiot, so that I could play ball. My arm healed back wrong so now my left wrist has a big bumpy bone instead of a smooth one. Serves me right. I shouldn’t have lied. Now I have a physical reminder of it.

World’s Worst Comedians

Where have you gone Richard Pryor?

When my girlfriend asked me to check out her friend’s first attempt at stand up comedy, I figured how bad could it be. I had no idea that it would be one of the most uncomfortable nights in recent memory.

New Year’s Night (aka the night you try to get over the worst hangover of the year) we went to the Comedy Store for this amateur stand up night. I’d had actually been to this event once a couple months ago and it wasn’t too bad. It was certainly entertaining enough and only a few people bombed.

But New Year’s night was different. I don’t know if all the comedians were still drunk (or on Crystal Meth like one comedian) but damn, it was tough to sit there.

For the first time in years, I was so embarrassed for other people that it made me feel embarrassed.

The host of the event bombed terribly, I couldn’t tell if what she was trying to say was even comedy at all, just really boring stories. If the host bombs, that’s a bad sign. It was the harbinger of terrible things on the horizon. One after one, each person took a shit on the stage. One guy (the Crystal Meth guy) could have very easily been a homeless guy they pulled off the street and asked to say a few words to us about how shitty his life was.

Two comedians stood out in my mind. The first one was so nervous, he was trying to read jokes off of note cards that he laid on the floor. His comedic delivery to us the audience was like Osama Bin Laden telling American jokes to Congress. By the end of his act, he was literally fighting off tears to get through it all. Ouch. It made me feel like crying just watching him.

The second guy got on stage and didn’t say a word. For six minutes. Six minutes of silence, staring at this crazy child molester looking guy. It was so awkward that it hurt my face and brain. There were a few uncomfortable laughs, but for the most part, no one said a word.

And this event was never ending, my girlfriend’s friend told us to be there early and then he didn’t go on until 3 hours later. 3 hours of excruciatingly bad comedy; nails on the chalk board of comedy.

Finally when my girlfriend’s friend did his thing I was ready to slit my wrists to end the agony. The friend wasn’t too bad but in comparison to those other acts, he could have punched me in the nose and it would have been funnier than the other comedians.

After the friend ended, I ran out of the room before another act could step up. As I left, I passed by a well known stand up guy who was working the real stage next door. I wanted to beg him to go the amateur night and teach, but I knew it was futile. You can led a camel to water, but you can’t get it to be funny.

Holiday Recap and Resolutions

So, maybe Christmas only partly sucks. It was nice to have a break and relax for a couple of days before I get hit with another wall of adult problems and responsibilities. When I woke up today and realized I had to go to work, it was like someone punched me in the stomach. Man, can’t I get paid to clean my apartment and hang out? That’s not a job? It is to me.

In the epic game for balance in the value of giving and receiving, I only lost by a couple hundred dollars, taking me from poor to super poor. I have a shit load of credit card stuff to pay off, leading me to the need for a shitty second job. Yep, a second job. I feel like I’m a single mom or something. What the fuck? I have two degrees people! Why do I need to wait tables to survive? Fucking LA, this wouldn’t happen any place else (except San Fran, NY, and London).

Because of my lack of funds and other factors, I’m starting a top ten list of new year’s resolutions and posting them here so that you can nail me on them when I don’t follow through.

1- Spend less money. Sounds easy enough right? I wish.

2- Get a second job. I hate this one.

3- Get a new real job. Hopefully one that pays enough so that I don’t have to have the second job.

4- Get Tag, my short movie, into as many film festivals that I can.

5- Run. A lot. I told my sister I would run a half marathon at the end of the year. I guess I’ll have to figure out how to run period, let alone for a bunch of miles.

6- Play more guitar. I’m excited about this one.

7- Sell a script. Don’t know if this one could happen or not.

8- Pay off my credit card. (see second job).

9- See my nephew as much as possible, while he’s still too cute to piss me off.

10- Write more blog entries.

There they are. I hope that you all had a super fantastic xmas and new year. Tons of love and keep reading!

Christmas Sucks.

Christmas is LAME. LAME in all CAPS. I know that people love them some X-Mas, but I feel like it’s a bunch of stupid traditions and capitalism meant to boost 4th quarter sales numbers for the US economy.

Call me the Grinch or Scrooge. I’m all that times 40 this year.

Yes Christmas, that magic time where people-

-Max out their credit cards

-Buy other people they don’t like trinkets just so they can be social and not look like assholes, even though 99% of people are just that, dumb assholes

-Get stressed out because they don’t get their Year End Bonus (which just happened to me. I now feel like Clark Fucking Griswald, my boss just gave me a gift card and said, “Oh yeah, I forgot to give you a bonus check.” What the hell am I supposed to say to that? “Go get your check book?” I’m screwed. Maybe I can buy Christmas gifts with the Bloomingdales gift card he gave me.)

-Pretend to like their family members.

I know that I’m supposed to feel like there is some sort of spirit inside me, making me want to be with my family and spread cheer throughout the countryside by spending crazy amounts of cash. Sorry, that’s not me, not now. My Motto- Life’s a bitch and then you die. Not exactly Rudolph and Frosty material.

I don’t want to spend every last penny from my tiny bank account and the last thousand on my credit limit for everyone presents. I’m fucking broke bitches! You guys are rich, buy yourself something cool. Don’t make me feel cheap because I don’t have enough cash to buy you something. Yet, in keeping with tradition, I need to spend my rent money to buy a shit load of gifts so that I wake up after New Years broke and thinking I need to pull a bank job so I don’t evicted. But don’t complain J- IT’S TRADITION!

And even if I buy a gift for someone, if I don’t spend at least a hundred bucks, the gift is most likely going to be something they don’t like or won’t use. Shit, most people’s gifts get used once the day of Christmas and then tossed aside and eventually tossed out.

And shouldn’t there be equality for what you’re gifting and receiving? If I give a kick ass expensive gift that I put a ton of thought into (for example the one I gave to my boss, fucking crap) you need to make sure you come correct on my gift bitches. I’m broke and I’m busting my ass to spend a buttfuck ton of money so that you won’t throw out my gift and you give me a gift card! WTF!?!?!?! This fucking gifting thing is redick. Fo reala!

And it’s not the gifting/broke thing that bugs me the most. It’s the supposed HOLIDAY part.

You have to spend time with your family for the holiday, even if that means you must drive or fly (in post 9/11 holiday airport hell) to the ends of the Earth to see them. That sounds like a nice relaxing start and end to anyone’s holiday.



I’ll be driving to Phoenix (instead of dealing with those lines) Sunday morning for my lovely holiday with my lovely family.

Is this what I really want to do with my time off? Hell no. I’d rather stay at home and panhandle for spare change to supplement my piteous income, but I don’t have a choice. I just really want a day to hang out in my apartment by myself, write and play guitar. Is that too much to ask? It should be my holiday right?

See in there lies the problem. If this is really supposed to be a ‘holiday’ or ‘vacation’, where is the rest and relaxation? Where is the stress free environment? Where’s the fun?

I need a serious battery recharge, and I really need to get some writing done. Too bad people don’t pay me for this blog, hahahahaha, like that would ever happen.

Until they get their shit straight with the sell-out commercial, rush around and feel stress, count me out.

PS- I think this will be the last post for a little while with Christmas coming up. I might sneak one in at ‘home’ for my ‘restful vacation’ of last minute shopping, annoying family members and driving in shitty traffic. Hooray!

In Limbo

Kevin awoke with a pain in his head. A pain that he couldn’t shake. His entire field of vision was clouded, his eyes felt like burning coals inside that box he called his face.

He licked the palm of his hand and held it up to his left ear. His ears had been ringing for days, a constant dull tone that muffled even the sounds of his own body writhing on the floor. He wished to hear a sign of something outside or around him but it was futile. He hadn’t heard a peep of the tiniest sound from anyone or anything but himself.

When his sight returned to him, as if it was a gift given to him for a short time, he crawled on his belly to the only thing he could look at in the darkness. A shaft of light, no bigger than a pencil, lay on the floor before him. The sharp cutting aches pierced his spine as he slowly moved, inch by inch, minute by minute, until he laid to rest with his face cast in the dull light.

While he lay there, he hoped that the light would bring some warmth to his body, which had been uncontrollably shivering, but it wasn’t in the cards. Kevin wondered where the illumination was coming from, why it was there and what he did to deserve such company. He wondered a lot that day (or was it days?) that he lay in the alabaster glow of his only friend left, a sliver of artificial sodium light.

Mostly he wondered how he ended up in here, this trap, this cage, this prison. He knew that he had bigger plans and even bigger dreams for his life than slowly dying in room where the ceiling was only two feet from the floor. But yet there he was, lying there in that strange place, confused.

Kevin tried to speak, but his words choked out into an incomprehensible slur of grunts and sighs. He reached up for his throat, his larynx was a mutilated mess; cartilage and sinew bent in odd shapes beneath his weak skin. But it’s just the same, there wasn’t anyone there to hear him, nor would anyone want to hear what he had to say.

Besides, everyone else was there with him, even if they didn’t know it.

He always wondered what the meaning of life was and more specifically what the meaning of his life was, but now none of that mattered. He figured he didn’t have much longer.

He slowly turned his body and more importantly his head to try to peer into the source of the light. He finally aligned himself right under the shaft, his left eye blinded by the dull light that seemed intense in comparison to the oily blackness in Kevin’s cage. He thought he might be able to see outside, to the world that he once knew, once took for granted, but could see nothing but the burning rays in his left eye and the dark in his right.

So he closed both eyes and stopping searching, stopped trying. It would all be done soon, he hoped. It would all come crashing down, running into him, sucking the air from his lungs.

He remembered a vacant night from his past. It was a hot summer day, just after dusk. He had been sprinting through the meadows, chasing after lightning bugs and catching them in an old jam jar. Suddenly in the distance, a bolt of lightning struck a large oak tree, cracking it in half and starting it on fire. Kevin stood there awestruck, accidentally releasing his captive prey from their glass cage. From his perspective, the green dots of the bugs danced in front of that orange fire playfully. He smiled, a sight he would never forget.

And with that, it was all gone.

Michigan Time Warp

Going to Michigan is like going back in time.

Michigan is locked in its past, its traditions, its old fashioned ways. Everything seems like America, but in the late 80’s. Not that there isn’t all the modern trappings of American society; there are strip malls, computers, Starbucks on every corner etc. But the people and rules are from the past.

People are… wait for it… friendly. You see someone on the street, they say hello to you. I know you’re asking yourself, “What? How? And you don’t know these people at all before hand?” Yeah, I’m surprised also. I sat down at the bar at my sister’s work and had a two hour conversation with a bunch of people who didn’t know me from anyone else. And it was like we were old friends catching up, trading war stories and drinking beers. This brings up another topic all together…



People in Michigan drink… a lot. And often. And by themselves. Its not uncommon to go to the bar by yourself and have a couple dozen drinks.

Its totally cool to have an adult drink, whenever, wherever. If you’re about to jump on the road, sit down and have a beer. Even if its 9:30 AM. You’re having a bad morning? Pound a shot with me.

The funny thing is, I kind of like this brazen form of alcoholic debauchery. It leads to happy people who are very out-going. What’s wrong with that? I mean besides the chance of car accidents, drunken fist fights and swollen livers.



When I was at the bar the first night back, someone light up a cigarette… in the bar! I was confounded and confused. I nearly smacked the cig out of her hand when I realized, of course, she could light up wherever, its Michigan. There are no smoking bans, light that bitch up. You’re sitting at church, let’s have a smoke (although I don’t know if any one actually does this, but I wouldn’t be surprised…)

I’m not a smoker but I like the old school nature of being able to smoke where ever. It seems like movie set in a seedy place. It makes things seem edgy.

These three things are status quo in Ann Arbor Michigan. It makes me think of that show “Mad Men” which is set in the 1950’s, where all the characters smoke at work, drink high balls in their offices and are hell of lot nicer to random folks.

Michigan should change their tourist slogan from “Find your true north” to “Find a good old days flashback”.

Deja Vu

The steel grey clouds overhead framed in the ominous storm below as I ran from my sister’s apartment through the freshly fallen snow.

Something overwhelmed my senses. Smell, sight, sound and temperature combined into a pattern that hadn’t experienced in years.

Déjà vu.

There in Technicolor Dolby Surround Sound and then gone in a flash of nothingness.

Places that I only remember in distant memories appear in front of my very eyes and then fade from my vision. Hazy memories dot the horizon but I can’t reach them. People that are long gone seem to be there but then are blown away by a strong gust of December wind.

The problem with Déjà vu is that you can’t place why you feel like this has happened before. You search your insides to find a clue but there is none. It always feels like to me that I ‘dreamt’ what is happening before my very eyes, like I have some sort of special talent or gift to see into the future when I fall asleep. But this one was different.

My Déjà vu was wasn’t Déjà vu at all, but a similar feeling inside. But instead of it being a mystery to me, I know exactly where it came from. It happened to me before in a completely different way; in a different place, time and circumstances.

We sat outside that night by a fire. I wondered why we weren’t inside, considering the weather. Wind pranced through blustery snow and white trees, darting the few remaining leaves from their bonds and emancipating them into flight. I stared at one leaf as it hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. My over-active imagination wondered if it was built by some squirrels, the Wright Brothers of the squirrel world.

He was drinking a beer. So was I sort of, the bottle was killing my hands from the cold so I put mine in the snow at my feet and didn’t really touch it. I was kind of upset that I was out there in the first place. Couldn’t we drink beer in the house by the portable space heater? I figured I would give it five minutes and then go in.

After three minutes, we started the conversation that saved my life.

What was exactly said, I’ll never be able now put into words. We just talked. About everything you possibly imagine. I wish that I would’ve taped the conversation because when it was done, it passed just as quickly as my déjà vu.

It was getting late. He stood up and smiled at me, his gray stubble smirk. He turned and walked away, his dark silhouette casting a shadow for a mile through the old cedar trees and the acrobatic flight paths of snow.

That moment; the wet smell in the air, the cold on my breath, the sound of the hollow wind were clearly the same. But moreover, something appeared just past my line of sight. There stood a ghost in the darkness, an apparition, a figment.

And with that, it was gone.